Fanged
by human kite
Summary: Broken vampires from around the world venture to Bucharest to seek the aid of the Whisperer, Vladimir Anton, and his best friend Dimitri Nikolov helps him to accommodate visiting vampires. The visit of a certain vampire, however, flips their worlds upside down... *PLANNED FOR A RESTART*
1. Prologue

_We can see in the dark._  
 _Track a man by smelling a rag of his clothing._

 _Run at unimaginable speeds._

 _We have immeasurable strength._

 _Can live forever and watch the world change for better... or for worse._

 _But..._

 _We cannot consume garlic, nor touch pure iron or silver._

 _Cannot go out with the scorching sun._

 _Cannot survive the sting of a wooden stake._

 _Cannot see our bodies reflected._

 _Are left to watch our beloved ones die off, one by one._

 _Some would think our abilities a blessing._

 _But everything comes with a curse._


	2. Chapter 1

_Bucharest, Romania  
_ _1862_

The night was deadly silent. No life wandered out in the streets of the small neighbourhood on the outskirts of Bucharest. Only death wandered. Or, most people would have thought it as death. But truly it was not dead, but undead. Heavy footsteps soon echoed through the air, breaking the fragility of the silence.  
The footsteps belonged to a tall and brooding man with shaggy, greasy brown hair that just brushed his broad shoulders. His amber eyes darted from door to door, searching for the one with a special symbol carved into it. He whispered a quiet "aha!"  
to himself as he found it; a blazing crimson, wooden door with a dragon carved into the centre of the upper half. The colour of the door would not have been seen by the eyes of a normal man.  
But alas, he was no normal man. He was different. A beast of the night.  
Quietly he knocked on the door, awaiting an answer. It must have been around ten minutes before the door was opened slightly.  
"Name," a Bulgarian-accented voice requested, "origin, and reason for coming here."  
"My name is Miguel Abilhão. I am arriving from Portugal, and I am here to see the Whisperer." The man had a gruff and deep voice.  
"... enter." The door opened, and shut again once Miguel walked inside.

Miguel was led through a rather homely set up by a young man who looked to be between sixteen and eighteen years of age. The young man's hair was dark, and his eyes were a vibrant forest green.  
"Down here," they stopped in front of a staircase descending into a cellar.  
"May I ask your name, boy?" asked Miguel.  
"Dimitri Nikolov."  
"You are from Sofia, correct? In Bulgaria? Born on the twenty-second of September, in the year 1845?"  
"... how did you know all of that?" questioned Dimitri.  
"It's... it's a very odd ability of mine," Miguel answered, "it is also the reason for me coming here."  
"Head on down the stairs and go down the hallway. You will find him in the third room to your right."  
Miguel nodded in gratitude and made his way down. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes registered a large room filled with people; male and female, children, adolescents and adults, and of different ethnicities. He counted a total of twenty-nine people."  
"You must be new."  
Miguel turned to the side after hearing a Russian accent speaking to him. There was a man standing but a few feet away, shirtless, wearing only a long and dark grey jacket, torn black trousers, and heavy looking boots.  
"Si, I am," Miguel answered. He was untrusting of the Russian man already. There was something about the look in those fiery red eyes...  
"My name is Dragunov. Sergei Dragunov," the Russian held out his hand, only for Miguel to stare instead of shake. Sergei retracted his hand. "You are a vampire, correct? Like the rest of us?"  
"Yes..." Miguel nodded.  
"I see... there weren't many vampires in Moscow."  
"Interesting..." Miguel wanted so desperately to end this conversation. Sergei Dragunov bothered him horribly. He couldn't tell how, but the Russian bothered him to no end. "I apologize, Senhor Dragunoff—"  
"Dragu _nov_."  
"—Dragu _nov_ , sorry," Miguel apologized and corrected himself, "but I must get going. I must speak with—"  
"The Whisperer, I know. He is quite the man, let me tell you—"  
"Senhor, I'm sorry, but it is urgent. Your stories will have to wait!" Miguel went on his way, heading down the solitary hallway to find the Whisperer's room. As he departed, all he could feel were two vicious eyes into the back of his skull.

* * *

 ***casually steals a name from the Tekken series because I used this name for an OC that GoldCleaver and I made* oops  
** **So... Dimitri Nikolov is my and GoldCleaver's human name for Bulgaria (I steal a lot of her stuff ;w;). Miguel is not Portugal, for anyone who is wondering. He's just an OC I made for the purpose of this story. Hopefully you're enjoying this so far ;w;**


End file.
